Traitor's Moon: The Nightrunner Series, Book 3

by Lynn Flewelling

  Alec felt rather than heard Seregil’s ironic chuckle. “I suppose so. I’d live among foreign people, immerse myself in their ways for years and years, but always return here, and to Bôkthersa.”

  “What would you do on your travels?”

  “Just—search. For places no Aurënfaie had seen, for people I’d never meet by remaining at home. My uncle always said there’s a reason for every gift. My skills with languages and fighting—he guessed that all added up to someone who was meant to wander. Looking back now, I suppose deep down I was hoping I’d find a place where I was something more than my father’s greatest disappointment.”

  Alec considered this in silence for a moment. “It’s difficult for you, isn’t it? Being here, the way things are.”

  “Yes.”

  How could a single quiet word convey such pain, such longing?

  “What else did you wish for, sitting here?” Alec asked quickly, knowing there was nothing he could do to assuage that wound; better just to move on.

  A hand slid slowly under his jaw, cupping his cheek as lips brushed his cheek. The touch spread a tingle of anticipation down his whole right side.

  “This, talí. You,” Seregil said, breath warm on his skin. “I couldn’t see your face back then, but it was you I dreamed of. I’ve had so many lovers—dozens, hundreds maybe. But not one of them—” He broke off. “I can’t explain it. I think some part of me recognized you that first night we met, battered and filthy as you were.”

  “In that distant foreign land.” Alec turned to meet the next kiss with one of his own. How long before someone missed them and came looking?

  Time enough.

  But Seregil only pulled him closer, cradling him without any of the usual playful groping that preceded their lovemaking. They sat like that for some time, until Alec finally realized that this was what Seregil had come here for.

  They fell silent again, and Alec felt himself slipping into a doze. He snapped awake again when Seregil shifted his legs.

  “Well, I suppose we should go back down,” Seregil said.

  Alec rose awkwardly, still sleep dazed. The night air felt cold against his right side where he’d lain against him. The sudden loss of physical contact left him disoriented and a little melancholy, as if he’d absorbed Seregil’s sorrow through his skin.

  Seregil was looking at the guest house again. “Thank you, talí. Now when I look over here from there, I can remember this as more than just a place that isn’t mine anymore.”

  They replaced the tick and were almost out the door when Seregil paused and turned back, muttering something to himself.

  “What is it?” asked Alec.

  Instead of answering, Seregil pulled the bedstead to one side and disappeared behind it.

  Alec heard the scrape of stone against stone, followed by a triumphant cackle. Seregil popped into view again, holding up a grappling hook and rope.

  “Where did that come from?” Alec asked, amused by his friend’s obvious delight.

  “Come see for yourself.”

  Alec climbed onto the dusty bed and peered over the edge. Seregil had pried up one of the polished stone floor tiles, revealing a dark space underneath.

  “Did you make that hole?”

  “No, and I wasn’t the first to use it, either. The grapple was mine, a later addition, and this.” He lifted out a clear quartz crystal as long as his palm. “I found the loose tile by accident. These other things were already here. Treasures.” A pretty box of Aurënfaie inlay work followed the crystal, and inside Alec found a child’s necklace of red and blue beads and a falcon’s skull. Seregil placed a painted wooden dragon with gilded wings beside it, then a small portrait of an Aurënfaie couple painted on ivory. Finally, with great care, he lifted out a fragile wooden doll. Its large black eyes and full-lipped mouth were painted on, but the hair was real—long, tightly curled ringlets of shining black.

  “By the Four!” Alec touched a finger reverently to the hair. “Do you think this is Bash’wai?”

  Still kneeling behind the bed, Seregil touched each object with obvious affection and nodded. “The doll is, and perhaps the necklace.”

  “And you never told anyone?”

  “Just you.” Seregil carefully replaced everything except the grapple. “It wouldn’t have been special if anyone else had known.”

  Standing, he tilted Alec a crooked grin. “And you know how good I am at keeping secrets.”

  Alec uncoiled the grapple rope. It was still supple, and knotted every few feet for climbing. “It’s too short to reach the ground.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, talí,” Seregil chided, carrying it out to the balcony. With one easy toss, he threw the hook up and secured it on the edge of the roof above. Giving Alec a parting wink, he shimmied up and out of sight.

  Knowing that he’d just been issued a challenge, Alec followed and found Seregil waiting for him in the large colos there.

  “I used to sneak out of my room this way, then use the back stairs over there to get out of the house. Or Kheeta and I would meet up here and trade sweets we’d nicked from the kitchen. Later on it was beer, or turab. Actually, it’s a wonder I didn’t break my neck one of those nights on the way back down.” He looked around a moment, then laughed outright. “One time six of us were up here, pissed as newts, when our lookout heard my father on his way up. We all went down the rope that night and hid out in my room until dawn.”

  Alec smiled but couldn’t quite suppress another jealous pang, especially at the mention of Kheeta. Tagging along after his nomadic father most of his life, Alec hadn’t had a real home or many friends. Thoughts of the rhui’auros flashed to mind, and he silently vowed that before this journey was over, he was going to learn whatever he could of his own missing past.

  Seregil must have sensed this roil of emotion, for suddenly he was close beside Alec again, pressing a turab-scented kiss to his lips. “It’s one of the few memories I have now that doesn’t hurt,” he offered.

  “Shall we go down the same way we came up?” Alec asked, passing it off lightly.

  “Why not? We’re practically sober.”

  Back on the balcony, Seregil gave the rope a neat flick that unseated the hook. Coiling it up again, he returned the grapple to its hiding place with the other toys.

  “Leaving it for the next child who discovers your secret cache?” Alec asked.

  “It seems only right.” Seregil set the tile back in place and pushed the leg of the bed over it. “It’s good to know something around here hasn’t changed.”

  Alec pondered the toys hidden in the dark as they returned to the gathering. Somehow, they seemed to fit into the strange, complex mosaic of Seregil’s life, a tiny model of the treasure-strewn and equally hidden rooms they’d shared at the Cockerel, or the unexpected bits of his own past that Seregil doled out like precious relics.

  Or perhaps precious wasn’t the right term.

  It’s one of the few memories I have now that doesn’t hurt.

  You never told anyone?

  Just you.

  How many times had someone looked at him in surprise when he’d mentioned something Seregil had shared with him? He told you about that?

  Humbled by this realization, he steered Seregil back to Kheeta and went off to find Beka.

  12

  THE GREAT GAME BEGINS

  The first round of negotiations began the next morning, and from the outset Seregil could see that it was going to be a laborious process.

  The Iia’sidra met in a stone pavilion overlooking the great pool at the center of the city. The original builder’s purpose for the broad, octagonal building was not known; inside, it was one huge, two-story chamber with a sweeping stone gallery. A temple, perhaps, although no one knew what gods the Bash’wai had worshiped. The eleven principal khirnari were already seated in open booths arranged around the hall’s central circle. The khirnari and their chief advisers sat in front; scribes, kin, and servants of various sorts were
allotted seats behind them. Outside the circle and in the gallery above, members of the numerous minor clans had their own hierarchy. They might not vote in the Iia’sidra, but they did have a voice.

  Seated with Alec just behind Klia in the Skalan booth, Seregil gazed around the vaulted chamber, studying faces. He’d wondered how he would feel, attending the Iia’sidra for the first time as an adult. As he caught sight of Adzriel and her small entourage he decided the experience was not an altogether pleasant one. Säaban, who also acted as adviser, sat at Adzriel’s right, Mydri on her left. Seregil would have held a rightful place there, too. Instead, he sat on the opposite side of the council circle, wearing the clothes and speaking the words of strangers. Better not to dwell on that, he told himself sternly. He’d put himself here; now there was work to be done, honorable work for an honorable cause.

  Klia had once again displayed a considerable talent for appearances. Today she’d ridden to the council hall in full dress uniform, with two decuria for escort. Torsin and Thero flanked her like some living tableau of aged wisdom and youthful intellect. Anyone expecting a supplicant from a dying nation was in for quite a surprise.

  When everyone had settled, a woman stepped forward and struck a hollow silver staff against the floor. Its solemn chime reverberated around the stone chamber, commanding silence.

  “Let no person forget that we stand in Sarikali, the living heart of Aurënen,” she announced. “Stand in Aura’s sight and speak the truth.”

  She struck the chime again and withdrew to a small platform. Brythir í Nien rose first to speak.

  “Brothers and sisters of the Iia’sidra, and all people of Aura in this place,” he began. “Klia ä Idrilain, Princess of Skala, seeks audience today. Are there any who object to her presence, or that of her ministers?”

  There was a weighty pause; then the khirnari of Haman, Lhapnos, and Goliníl rose as one.

  “We object to the presence of the exile, Seregil of Rhíminee,” stated Galmyn í Nemius.

  Alec and Thero both shot Seregil worried glances, but he’d expected as much.

  “Your objections are noted,” Brythir í Nien told the dissenters. “Any others? Very well, then. Klia ä Idrilain, you may speak.”

  Klia rose and made the assembly a dignified bow. “Honored Khirnari and people of Aurënen, I come before you today as a representative of my mother, Queen Idrilain. From her I bear greetings and a proposition.

  “As you know, Plenimar is once more making war against Skala and our ally, Mycena. From your own agents we also know that they have courted the favor of your own enemy, Zengat. Aurënen has fought with us against Plenimar before. I stand before you today as a warrior who has faced this aggressor in the field, and they are as mighty now as in the days of the Great War.

  “Already our trade routes with the northlands have been cut off. Mycena will almost surely fall. We Skalans are great warriors, yet without allies or supplies, how long can we stand come winter? If Plenimar lays claim to the Three Lands and their territories, how long will it be before their fleets and those of the Zengati pirates mass along your coast?

  “Our two races stood against Plenimar through the dark days of the Great War. For many years we mixed our blood and called each other kin. In the face of this new crisis, Queen Idrilain proposes a renewed alliance between our two lands for our mutual defense and benefit.”

  Galmyn í Nemius of Lhapnos was the first to respond. “You speak of supplies, Klia ä Idrilain. You already have these from us, do you not? Aurënfaie goods are still carried north from Virésse by Tírfaie ships.”

  “But few of them are Skalan ships these days,” she replied. “Few of our vessels can reach Virésse, and fewer still return. Plenimaran ships lurk behind every island. They attack without provocation, pillage the cargoes, kill the crew, and send the ships to the bottom of the Osiat Sea. Then they sail back to trade at your port. And their reach is growing. My own ship was attacked no more than a day’s voyage from Gedre.”

  “What would you have of us, then?” asked the Khatme, Lhaär ä Iriel.

  Klia motioned to Lord Torsin. “The list, please.”

  The envoy stepped forward and unrolled a parchment. Clearing his throat, he read: “Queen Idrilain asks first that the Iia’sidra Council grant Skala a second open port, Gedre, and leave to mass ships there and in the Ea’malie Islands for no longer than the duration of the present conflict. In return, she pledges increased payments for Aurënfaie horses, grain, and weapons.

  “In addition, the queen proposes a military alliance for the mutual benefit and defense of our two lands. She asks that you commit to a levy of Aurënfaie warships, soldiers, and wizards, with her pledge in kind to provide the same in the event that Aurënen is attacked.”

  “A hollow pledge, from a land that cannot even defend itself,” observed a Haman. Torsin pressed on as if he hadn’t heard.

  “Finally, she earnestly desires to reestablish the accord that once existed between our two peoples. In this dark time, she prays that the Iia’sidra will honor the call of blood to blood and once again treat Skala as her friend and ally.”

  Nazien í Hari was on his feet before Torsin finished rolling up his scroll. “Are the memories of the Tír so short, Torsin í Xandus?” he demanded. “Has your queen forgotten what sundered our peoples in the first place? I am not the only one present today who is old enough to recall the outcry of your people against Corruth í Glamien when he married the first Idrilain, or how he disappeared immediately after her death—murdered by Skalans. Adzriel ä Illia, how can you support those who ask us to embrace the murderers of your own kinsman?”

  “Are the Skalans a single clan, that the action of one member brings shame to all?” Adzriel replied. “The Exile, once my brother, stands among us now in part due to his role in solving the mystery of Corruth’s disappearance. Thanks to his efforts, the bones of my kinsman lie in Bôkthersa at last, and the clan of those who killed him has suffered disgrace and punishment. Atui had been served.”

  “Ah, yes!” sneered Nazien. “And what an advantageous discovery that was. It occurs to me that we have only the word of his murderers that the bundle of charred bones we saw was that of Corruth. What proof has been offered?”

  “Proof enough for his kinswoman, the queen,” Klia retorted. “Proof enough for me, who saw the body before it was burned. And proof remains. Seregil, if you would?”

  Steeling himself, Seregil rose and faced Nazien. “Khirnari, did you know Corruth í Glamien well?”

  “I did,” Nazien snapped, then added pointedly, “in the days long before discord sundered the bonds of friendship between Haman and Bôkthersa.”

  Thanks so much for bringing that up here, Seregil thought. But strike a bruise often enough and it goes numb.

  “Then you would recognize this, Khirnari.” He pulled out the ring and carried it slowly around the circle for inspection.

  Nazien’s face darkened with suspicion as it came round to him. “This was Corruth’s,” he grudgingly acknowledged.

  “I removed this and the consort’s seal ring from the hand of his intact corpse before it was burned,” Seregil told him, looking the man squarely in the eye. “As Princess Klia has stated, she herself saw the body.” When all had seen and acknowledged the ring, he returned to his seat.

  “The murder of Corruth is the concern of Bôkthersa and the Skalan queen, not of this assembly,” Elos í Orian of Goliníl argued impatiently. “What Princess Klia has just proposed challenges the Edict of Separation. For more than two centuries we have lived peacefully within our own borders, trading with whom we choose without allowing foreigners and barbarians to roam our soil.”

  “Trading with whom Virésse chooses, you should say!” Rhaish í Arlisandin burst out angrily, prompting a groundswell murmur of agreement from many of the minor clans sitting in the outer circle. “It’s all well and good for you eastern clans—you do not have to cart your goods past the ports you once used, and you profit from those
who must. When is the last time the markets of Akhendi or Ptalos saw Tírfaie goods and gold? Not since your Edict of Separation closed its hold about our throats!”

  “Perhaps Virésse would prefer to see Skala fall?” Iriel ä Kasrai of Bry’kha suggested. “After all, it has always been a shorter voyage to Benshâl than to Rhíminee!”

  Ulan í Sathil remained conspicuously silent as the others of the council warmed to the familiar fight; evidently the khirnari of the Virésse knew when to let others fight his battles for him.

  “There’s your strongest adversary,” Seregil told Klia, letting the surrounding uproar cover his words.

  Klia glanced in Ulan’s direction and smiled. “Yes, I can see that. I want to know this man better.”

  Silmai was the wealthiest of the western clans, and Brythir í Nien had spared nothing in the name of hospitality. Tense as he was from the day’s business and the prospect of the evening still ahead, Seregil felt something loosen a little in his chest as he and the others entered the rooftop garden Brythir í Nien had prepared for them.

  Flowering plants and trees in huge carved urns were thickly banked around three sides of the roofline, screening the rest of the city from view except for the broad avenue below, which had been cordoned off for displays of horsemanship. Bright silk banners and prayer kites rustled softly in the evening breeze overhead. In water-bowls decorated with sea creatures, tiny silver ships carried candles and smoking cones of incense on their decks. The sen’gai of the Datsians and Bry’khans who’d already arrived added to the illusion that they’d all been transported to Silmai itself.

  “I thought the Haman were to be here?” Alec whispered, scanning the crowd warily.

  “Not here yet. Or perhaps my presence scared them off?”

  “Nazien í Hari doesn’t strike me as someone easily frightened.”

  Dressed in a sen’gai and flowing festival robe of Silmai turquoise, Brythir í Nien leaned on the arm of a dark-eyed young woman as he welcomed Klia and her party.

  “You honor our household with your presence,” he said as he gently urged a little girl in a colorful embroidered tunic forward. The child bowed and presented Klia with a pair of heavy gold and turquoise bracelets. Watching her place them on her wrists with the Gedre bracelets and Akhendi charms, Seregil wondered if such gifts didn’t eventually burden the arms. It was unlikely he’d ever find out for himself.